A Perfect Match II — Summer of Discontent
by Savannah Singleton
Summary: The end of the summer finds New York City Police Commissioner Frank Reagan tired and overworked, and his wife Nicole bored.


Nicole sighed as she placed the bookmark between the two pages, and then closed the book she'd been reading for the past half hour, leaving it resting in her lap.

"Something wrong, Nicole?" her husband asked, turning his attention from his own hardback.

"No."

He smiled at her, that smile she loved, where his whole face scrunched up. Then he returned to his own reading — Richard Zacks' nonfictional _The Pirate Coast —_ that he had purchased earlier in the evening when they visited Barney & Bates Bookstore in Greenwich Village, having read — and reread more than once — Zacks' _Island of Vice._ After they left Nicole's favorite bookstore, they'd enjoyed a nice quiet dinner at their favorite restaurant, then returned home, and settled themselves in the den with their newly purchased books.

She studied his face, the tired lines of it, as she sat next to him in the den. Their arm chairs, his leather, hers upholstered in a heavy chenille fabric, were separated only by a small, round two-tiered accent table with large dimpled bronze lamp taking up most of the top tier. With their bodies turned in their chairs toward each other, her legs crossed, she could almost touch his leg with her foot.

She still considered him the sexiest, most handsome man she knew, and she always would, but the duties, the responsibility involved with heading the country's largest police force, had taken their toll over the years, and especially the past several months.

Still grieving the devastating loss of a dear friend, Frank had faced a summer of unusually high disregard, hostility, and even hatred, toward his police force, especially in certain communities of the city. The nation-wide unrest had kept the department on edge, not to mention the need for added patrol, with some officers wondering why they even bothered to put on the blue uniform each day. Frank had made great effort to keep his officers' spirits up, often visiting the individual precincts, spending more hands-on/ personal time with them than normal.

Nicole was glad the month of August had passed, though September was — no doubt — her least favorite month of the calendar year. If it were up to her, she would skip the month, and go directly to October. But most schools had begun their Fall semester the Monday before, sending the thousands of summer tourists home, and for that she was thankful. The revenue was good for the city, but the added work of the New York City Police Department over-taxed its commissioner. The visitors would return for the holidays, but for now the streets, the parks, the transportation services, were all less crowded. It had been a long summer, it seemed to Nicole, and she was ready for it, and the heat that came with it, to end.

She looked down at the Sandra Brown novel — her bookstore purchase — in her lap. She'd had no inspiration to write since her last project had been completed and sent to her publisher. She was hoping reading the bestselling romance writer's latest release, _Friction,_ would give her some ideas, or at least motivate her to get back to her writing.

She opened the book to where she had marked her place, began reading once again. Unable to fully concentrate on the words, she closed the book once more, placed it on the floor beside her chair, let out another sigh as she swung her crossed leg back and forth in rapid motion.

Frank glanced up at her. "Are you sure there's nothing wrong?"

"I'm sure."

"Not liking the new book?"

"It's fine."

Frank closed his book, removed his glasses from his face, rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger. He reached for his glass of scotch, took a sip of it, then returned the glass to the bottom tier of the table.

"Okay, let's hear it. What's bothering you?"

"Nothing!" she replied, shrugging her shoulders.

"Right. You always sigh for no reason." He pursed his lips. "Tell me what's bothering you."

"Nothing, I swear."

"Nicole." He stretched out her name as he said it, clearly not convinced.

"Nothing is wrong, Frank. I'm just a bit restless this evening, that's all." She raised her finger toward the book in his lap. "Go back to your reading. Sorry I disturbed it."

He studied her for a few seconds, then returned his glasses to his face, opened his book, and began reading once more.

There was nothing _wrong_. She was just restless, as she said. Bored, actually.

She shouldn't be bored, being married to the New York City Police Commissioner, being part of the Reagan family, the drama that often entailed, between the daily events of police officer Jamie, homicide detective Danny, Assistant District Attorney Erin, and emergency room charge nurse Linda.

But she was. For the first time since Nicole Richardson had met Frank Reagan, she was bored, bored with writing romance novels, bored with reading romance novels. She missed _real_ romance in her life. She still loved Frank Reagan, of course. She loved being married to him, she loved going to bed with him every night, waking to him every morning — at least those mornings he didn't get a call that sent him to the office, or elsewhere, long before the sun even made an appearance. She still enjoyed the sex, though it didn't occur as often as before, when Frank was less tired, less stressed than he had been over the summer. Their lovemaking was still just as fulfilling as that first time.

Her mind drifted back to that first time, only a few weeks after they'd met at a dinner party hosted by her dear friend Sybil, now the First Lady of New York City, wife of Mayor Anthony Rosenni. She recalled the look on Frank's face when he arrived to pick her up for their first real date. He was furious with her, having found out earlier that day from his youngest son that she was _CassandraCarrington_ , author of romantic _trash,_ as he had described it. She had found his anger attractively amusing, and had made light off it, teased him, flirted with him, which had just aggravated him even more. They'd ended up having their first real fight, had never made it to dinner as planned, but the evening had still turned out quite well, with him in her bedroom, in her bed.

She missed those days, the excitement of new love, the romanticism of keeping their affair secret, him showing up at her home after a long day at One Police Plaza, leaving late at night, sometimes the wee hours of the morning. While she was happy to be married to Frank, she missed _dating_ him.

Frank suddenly closed his book and tossed in on the table, causing her to jump, lost in her thoughts. He stared into space for a minute or two, his hands clasped together between his legs, pondering what he had just read, she assumed. She was surprised when he turned his attention to her, smiling.

"I was just thinking, Nicole..."

"What were you thinking, Frank?"

"I noticed when we left the restaurant earlier that the night air was cooler than it has been."

"I noticed that, as well. So what about it?"

"I was just thinking it might be a nice evening to go for a drive."

"A drive?"

"Yes, Nicole, you have heard of people doing that, right? Anyway, the old Super Sport is parked in the driveway out back. Thought we might take it for a drive, with the windows rolled down, radio on, station of your choosing, maybe end up at Bluebird Park."

Nicole laughed. "Bluebird Park? Isn't that where all the teenagers hang out?"

Frank raised his eyebrows at her. "It used to be. Now I think they've moved elsewhere. Now it's mostly perverts and weirdos." His grin contradicted his words.

"Ha! Guess it'll be a good thing we'll have two security guards with us then."

"Oh, I was planning on ditching them."

"Were you?" Nicole asked, her eyes lighting up. The idea was sounding more intriguing by the minute.

"So what do you think?"

Rising from her chair to stand in front of him, she leaned over his lap. With her hands on his shoulders, she brushed his lips with her own. "I think it sounds incredibly romantic."

Glancing down her loose blouse, he said, "Or we could just get naked right here. Pop won't be home for at least an hour."

"We could, but I like the first idea better."

XXXXX

Once on their way, leaving Frank's detail parked in front of the house unaware of their escape, Nicole turned the knobs of the radio until she found the perfect soft rock station, the one known to play mostly love songs after nine o'clock at night.

"This is nice," she said, as she reached her arm out the window, her long fingers outstretched, enjoying the cool night air. "You know what would make it even better?"

"If we were in a convertible with the top down? Preferably a red Corvette?" he asked.

She smiled that he remembered her stories of her college days told during their first weekend getaway to his cabin in the Catskills — the trip they'd made in his old truck "Bessie". What a weekend that was, finding Erin already there, and not alone.

"Yes, but this is good. Maybe better."

"What makes it better?"

"The backseat."

Which is where they moved to, once they reached, and parked, at Bluebird Park. There were a few others cars parked there already, but otherwise it was rather isolated, quiet, and dark, except for the reflection of the moon finding it way through the open windows, and a few tall pole lights across the street.

Frank sat in the middle of the backseat, his long legs stretching into the front seat, resting on the middle console. Nicole sat straddling him, her arms slipped around his neck, as they kissed. When he began unbuttoning her blouse, she slapped his hands.

"Now, Frank Reagan, not on a first date! What kind of a girl do you take me for?"

"Pretend it's our second date," he replied.

"Oh, well, that's different then, carry on."

Once he had her shirt unbuttoned, he unhooked her bra, began caressing her breasts. She leaned her head back, eyes closed as she enjoyed the pleasure of his touch. She caressed the back of his neck as he nuzzled her between her breasts, flinched when he took one in his mouth. She still enjoyed the rough tickle of his mustache on her tender, bare skin. When he leaned back against the seat, she began unbuttoning his shirt, pulling the shirttail from his cotton slacks. She ran her fingers through his thick chest hair, then began kissing him, first just below his adam's apple, then along his wide chest. He moaned when she slipped her fingers inside his pants, and then begin to unbutton them.

"Nicole," he whispered, his breathing heavy, his hands cupping her face, bringing her lips to meet his. "Not sure we should go that far."

"First time, Frank? It's okay, I promise to be gentle."

He chuckled, then kissed her again. "Damn, Nicole, I do love you." And then his hand shot to his own face, as he tried to block the bright light suddenly shining in his eyes.

"What's going on here?"

Startled by the light, and the strange, deep voice just outside the car, Nicole jumped from Frank's lap, threw herself into the seat next to him, grabbing the front of her blouse together as she did to cover her nakedness.

"Nothing, Officer," Frank replied, pulling his own shirt together. "Could you get that flashlight out of my eyes?"

The light moved closer, shining brighter, blinding him more.

"Step out of the car, please."

"I'd rather not, if you don't mind." Frank worked to button his shirt as he spoke.

"Jesus Christ! Commissioner Reagan, is that you!" The voice neared, as the young man with the flashlight peered closer into the open window.

"Yes. And you are?"

"Pete, sir. Officer Pete Donner, sir."

"Well, Officer Donner, do you think you could aim that flashlight somewhere besides in my eyes?"

"Oh, yes, sir! Sorry, sir." The officer — who had gone from authoritative to nervous in an instant — quickly moved the flashlight so that it shone down on the ground, outside the vehicle. "Is that better, sir?"

Nicole, who had remained silent beside Frank, on the side away from the officer, working to hook her bra and button her blouse inconspicuously, now chuckled.

Hearing her, the officer shined the light back into the backseat of the car. "Who's that with you, sir?" Once he located her with his flashlight, he said, "Oh! Mrs. Reagan. It's you!"

"Of course it's Mrs. Reagan! Who the hell else would it be!" Frank exclaimed, agitated by the officer's surprise.

"Oh!...no one, sir." The officer moved his flashlight so that it shone in the car, but not directly on either Frank or Nicole, creating only a shadow of illumination on both of their faces.

"Good to hear it!" Frank sat up in the seat, his shirt now fully buttoned.

"I'm really sorry to bother you and the Misses, Commissioner, it's just that..."

"It's just that we have no business being here, and you were just doing your job. No need to apologize, Officer."

"Thank you, sir."

"We'll be on our way, Officer Donner," Frank assured him. After a short pause, he said, "I'd appreciate it if we could keep this just between us."

"Oh, absolutely, sir!"

"Thank you. And good work. Keep it up, and stay safe. I assume you have a partner working with you this evening?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely. Officer Daniels is just right over there, checking out another parked car." He flashed his light in the direction of the car.

"It might be best that you approach together, rather than separate."

"Yes, sir. We'll do that. Thank you, sir. Goodnight, sir, Mrs. Reagan."

"Goodnight," Nicole said in a quiet voice. Once the officer disappeared from the car, she burst out laughing.

"Oh, my, God! Frank. How funny! The poor guy! He thought he had just caught his boss in the back seat with a prostitute. I love it."

"Glad to know you enjoyed that. I didn't find it that amusing myself."

"Oh come on, Frank. what else would you expect him to think?"

"Why would I possibly want to be with _anyone_ else, when I have you?"

"I certainly can't imagine any reason."

"Never can I."

He wrapped his arms around her, held her as she rested her head on his chest. They continued to cuddle for several more minutes before they moved back to the front seat, and Frank drove them home.

XXXXX

When they arrived home, Frank suggested they finish what they had started at the park, before the police officer had interrupted. As they headed up the stairs to their bedroom, Frank two steps behind her, Nicole said, "Frank, you knew there was a good chance we'd get caught, didn't you?"

He let out a sigh. "I did."

"Yet, you still suggested it?"

He sighed again. "I did."

"Why?"

He shrugged his shoulders as he continued to follow her up the stairs.

"I just thought it would be worth the risk to do something fun, something different, with my wife."

"Something romantic?"

"Well, I guess it wasn't very creative. Probably wasn't the most romantic thing to suggest."

Nicole turned to him just before she reached the top of the stairs.

"It was perfect, Frank. I loved it, even with getting caught. And you have no idea how much I needed it."

 _Or had he?_

The End


End file.
